


Pro Delicto

by GoodOldBaz



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 16:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18167435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodOldBaz/pseuds/GoodOldBaz
Summary: After The Big Four, Hastings has to come to terms with decisions he made while he was away from his wife.





	Pro Delicto

It was a hot, muggy night, and all the windows were open. A soft breeze, which was very welcome, blew the mesh curtains of their bedroom and tossed her dark curls around her shoulders as she stood looking out at the sky. For all the fog, she couldn’t see a single star. But it was comforting, just knowing they were there. Her lips formed a smile for a moment, though it quickly faded. Things were not going well. With a gentle sigh she moved to the bed where her husband sat, and had been sitting for the past quarter of an hour.  
Mrs. Hastings put her hands on her husband’s bare shoulders, gently tracing his freckles with one finger. He flinched a little, but said nothing. She wanted to find a way to help him, to find a way to show him that whatever it was that was hurting him, he could always, always talk to her about it. But she didn’t know what to do. Ever since he had come home from his extended visit with Poirot, he’d not been the same. He didn’t look at her the way he used to, playfully, with a sparkle in his eye. They hadn’t danced. He never told her his terrible jokes, which she would always laugh at merely because he was the one telling her. He would leave early, far earlier than ever before, and stay out on the ranch well past dark, most days. When he would return, he would look at her with an expression of pain and guilt, speak only a few words, and go to bed, without supper. She didn’t understand, and it scared her. What had happened during those months away that had changed him so? He shied away at the very touch of her. She knew something dangerous had happened, so dangerous, in fact, that Poirot had sent her a telegram informing her and the baby to move away from the ranch to a safe house he had prepared for her. But despite her gentle prodding, her husband had no spoken a word of the occurrence, or how things and eventually become resolved.  
“Arthur,” she said at last, when her other attempts to awaken a response in him had failed. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”  
He moved away from her touch, so that her fingers fell, just brushing the old war scar on his back.  
“I can’t,” he said slowly. “I’m so sorry. I can’t. I’m too… too ashamed.”  
A bullet wound would not have been more painful than hearing those words. “Please,” she begged. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you.”  
He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, if you only knew…”  
“Then tell me!” she cried. “Tell me and you’ll see!”  
Her husband let out a broken sob, his shoulders tensed and his face buried in his hands. In an instant she had her arms wrapped around his slender frame, showering kisses on his scattered freckles.  
“Oh God please,” he groaned at her touch. “I can’t.”  
“Please,” she whispered. “I want to be there for you, as a wife should be, but how can I if you don’t tell me what you’re feeling.”  
He held his breath, steadying his nerve. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. Something would break eventually, and it might as well be him. His body went fairly limp in her arms.  
“I betrayed you,” he murmured at last.  
For a moment, she wanted to pull away in disbelief, but she knew now would be the worst possible time to do so.  
“How so?” she asked, her voice calm and tempered.  
“During the case, with Poirot – the big four…”  
“I know what I read in the papers,” she said. “But no more.”  
“I know, I’m sorry. I was too – too scared. Too ashamed of what I’d done.” He paused for a moment to breathe. She waited. “Once along the way, they, they lured me into a trap. I was an idiot, walked right into it. It turned out that they were using me as bait to get to Poirot. They kept me there by telling me they had you, and that they’d kill you if I didn’t cooperate. So I wrote a note to Poirot asking him to come to me, and of course he did. They were going to kill him when he arrived, but if I told Poirot it was a trap they were going to kill you. I didn’t know what to do… I couldn’t…” He stopped again, a burning sensation rising in his throat.  
“You told Poirot it was a trap,” she said at last, her voice barely even a whisper.  
“I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry. I betrayed you.”  
“But Arthur, they didn’t have me. I’m alright.” She nestled her face in his neck.  
“But I didn’t know that,” he said, pulling back and facing her. “I chose him over you. What kind of husband does that make me?”  
She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. “My love, my little man,” she cooed. “I never would have wanted you to do anything differently.”  
He stared at her, wide eyed. “What?”  
“Your Poirot, the poor man, in a situation like that, he can’t protect himself. That’s your job. I, on the other hand, know perfectly well how to take care of myself.” Hastings couldn’t help but smile slightly at her words. Of course, she was a very capable woman. “Even if they had tried to kidnap me,” she continued, “I can promise you, they wouldn’t have succeeded.”  
“But I –” he started.  
She held her finger to his lips. “Even if you didn’t consciously know it, I believe in your heart you knew I could take care of myself. You made the right decision.”  
He stared into his wife’s eyes, hardly believing. “You don’t… hold it against me? For betraying you like that?”  
“I wouldn’t even consider it a betrayal,” she said. “You protected Poirot, and I was safe and sound the whole time. All’s well that ends well.”  
Hastings felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in over a month, he felt glad to be home. He reached out his arms and wrapped his wife in a hug.  
“Thank you,” he whispered.


End file.
